


our kind of trouble

by venvephe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Crushes, Espionage, Fake-Out Make-Out, First Kiss, Kissing, Kissing as a diversion, M/M, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: “Are you shitting me,” Tyler hisses into the hidden mic at his lapel, sending a furtive glance to Jamie across the crowded ballroom. “This is anart auction. Did M know about this when he sent us in? I swear to god - ”“Stay calm, there’s no need to get riled up,” Jamie murmurs as quietly as he can into his drink. They knew going into this mission that there would be an element of danger; it’s what they signed up for. As far as he’s concerned, this is just more evidence that the Blackhawk cartel is going to make their move at this ball tonight. The art they are auctioning off is valuable, certainly, but the guns are definitely overkill. “You’re wearing a bulletproof suit, aren’t you?”“Myfaceisn’t bulletproof,” Tyler grumbles, and Jamie has to cough to hide his laugh. “I’m too pretty to get shot.Again."Tyler's not wrong. One of these days, Jamie's crush on him is going to get him into trouble.Well, more trouble than he's usually in. Occupational hazard and all.





	our kind of trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a prompt on tumblr for a kissing prompt meme, "Bennguin, #24 - in danger." In a very typical me fashion, two things happened: 1. I made it about spies, and 2. this fic got wildly, wildly longer than expected and totally out of hand. I'd say "whoops" but I've ended up with about 5k of very fun spy romping, and I'm never sorry about Bennguin, as a rule. 
> 
> It's not quite the Spy AU these two deserve - really, that could be an entire longfic in its own right - but it was really fun to explore this, and I'm happy with the vignette it ended up becoming. I've cribbed a little bit from James Bond, a little bit from Kingsman, and thrown it all in the blender. Also @ Stars, thanks for hiring a coach with an M name so I can get away with using M, that was real swell of you. 
> 
> Much love to Jen and Sarah for cheering me on with this - it definitely wouldn't have gotten finished (before NaNo, even!) or ended up as fun as it did without your cheerleading and fantastic suggestions. Y'all are the best.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s Tyler who spots the guards with MGs.

“Are you _shitting me_ ,” he hisses into the hidden mic at his lapel, sending a furtive glance to Jamie across the crowded ballroom. “This is an _art auction._ Did M know about this when he sent us in? I swear to god - ”

“Stay calm, there’s no need to get riled up,” Jamie murmurs as quietly as he can into his drink. They knew going into this mission that there would be an element of danger; it’s what they signed up for as a part of the Secret Tactical Response Squad. As far as he’s concerned, this is just more evidence that the Blackhawk cartel is going to make their move at this ball tonight. The art they are auctioning off is valuable, certainly, but the guns are definitely overkill. Especially machine guns. “You’re wearing a bulletproof suit, aren’t you?”

“My _face_ isn’t bulletproof,” Tyler grumbles, and Jamie has to cough to hide his laugh. “I don’t like this. Even with K’s custom Walthers, we’re vastly low on firepower compared to fucking _machine guns.”_

“You’re welcome for those,” Klinger chuckles as he cuts in, his voice crackling in Jamie’s ears from HQ, “but if you do your job tonight, you won’t have to use them. What was all that training for if you’re afraid of a few goons with MGs, 91?”

“I’m too pretty to get shot,” Tyler grunts. He’s making his way back to the bar, back towards Jamie, now that he’s finished scouting the perimeter. For all his complaining, Tyler is exactly on time according to their plan. “ _Again.”_

“This doesn’t change our objective, boys,” Jamie reminds them, fingers playing around the stem of his nearly-empty martini glass. He’s more of a beer guy when he has a choice, but the annual Chicago Arts Society Ball isn’t the occasion for an IPA. The suit, at least, was an easy way to look the part - even if it meant _also_ having to see Tyler dressed up just as sharply. One of these days, Jamie’s crush is going to get him into trouble.

Well, more trouble than he’s usually in, for a spy. Occupational hazard and all.

They haven’t been put on too many missions together before this, but M must have foreseen the possibility for this level of danger and difficulty if it made sense to pair them up. Still: Jamie remembers the first time he saw Seguin training at HQ, and then catching the video feed of his first mission over Klingberg’s shoulder from mission control. Tyler’s more than just well-trained; he has a natural charisma that allows him to talk himself out of situations where Jamie would have to resort to his fists, can charm information out of anyone he meets with a smile. It’s an entirely different form of espionage than what Jamie can do - and the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense M wanted them here together. Crush aside, Jamie can be confident about Seguin having his back. It opens up a lot more options for them to successfully complete this mission, which is quite public for all that they’re undercover. And speaking of -

Jamie’s eyes slide over to Tyler when he settles next to him at the bar. They’re about equal in height, but Tyler slouches just a little, leans his forearms against the bartop and meets Jamie’s gaze with a smirk. The pose makes his dark suit stretch attractively across his shoulders and upper arms, perfectly-tailored and clinging. _Ugh_ , Tyler’s so good at this. Jamie knows it’s an act, but his stomach still flips when Tyler’s eyes flick up and down his body in a blatant show of interest, when he not-so-subtly licks his lips.

Jamie knows what the play is. He’s the captain, the leading agent, on this mission, after all. Doesn’t mean that it’s any easier to tell his brain - _and_ his body - that it’s just a pretext to move along the op. Oh, if only it were that simple.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tyler says, and Jamie cracks a smile at the line. It’s dumb, but it’s not like Tyler is _actually_ trying to pick him up. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“No, thanks,” Jamie pushes the empty glass away, his smile going wry. “I need to keep my wits about me for the bidding later.”

Tyler’s eyebrows rise, and he stands a little straighter. He’s definitely a better actor than Jamie is. “Oh? Got your eye on something?”

“You could say that,” Jamie half-shrugs, hating the way his cheeks start to flush. He’s managed to be a successful spy despite how easily his emotions play across his face - but then again, his missions usually don’t involve too much actual _flirting._ But his reaction must be the right one, because Tyler grins. “You?”

“Going to be hard to choose, there are five or six pieces up for auction tonight that are worth a second look,” Seguin fiddles with his cufflinks as he speaks; six guards, then, all armed with MGs, and suspicious enough in their presence that Tyler warrants them some additional investigation. Jamie gives him a subtle nod, letting his eyes linger on Tyler’s hands - nothing about him is small, and the length of his fingers would make Jamie’s throat go dry if he was a less disciplined man. But they’re here on a mission, and he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure it’s a successful one. The Blackhawk cartel deserves his full attention, and he doesn’t need any extra distractions.

Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult to get the next words out of his mouth without flushing.

“Well I certainly would appreciate your… _expertise_ , if you aren’t busy in the next hour or so. Before the, uh, auction starts.” Amazingly, he gets the innuendo out all in one coherent phrase, aware of how quickly the blood keeps rushing to his cheeks. He’s good at all the _other_ aspects of being a spy, why is this so hard? And of course, his partner in this is _Tyler_ \- well, it could be worse, Jamie tries to remind himself. He could be trying to flirt with Bishop, who’d use this as chirping material for the next five years.

There’s a muffled snort over the comms from Klinger, which Jamie studiously ignores.

Tyler, for his part, looks equally delighted and predatory, his soft mouth upturned in a smirk as he looks up at Jamie through his eyelashes. Jamie swallows. God, that must work on _everyone._

“I’m all yours,” Tyler purrs, and cups Jamie’s elbow to lead him through the well-dressed crowd.

Good, this is good. From his reconnaissance before, Tyler knows exactly where they need to be for this next part. Jamie lets himself be led, ignoring how nice and warm Tyler’s hand feels through the layers of his suit.

The women in ball gowns and men in tuxedos part for them as they slip through the crowd, dodging waitstaff carrying trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres that look _tiny_ for how much the Arts Society is charging per ticket. Tyler snags a glass of something that looks dark and potent before they reach the edge of the ballroom - when Jamie shoots him a look, he waggles his eyebrows but doesn’t take a sip.

The strains of classical music fade as they covertly slip through a side door, their footfalls echoing in the empty corridor. Tyler lets go of Jamie’s arm as soon as they’re hidden from the sight of the rest of the guests; he tries to ignore the way he suddenly misses the heat and weight of Tyler’s hand, the scent of his aftershave that kept tickling Jamie’s nose with Tyler so close. Maybe there _is_ some value in having a partner on these assignments, rather than flying solo.

Jamie nearly shakes his head to dislodge the thought. Mission. Cartel. Right.

“This way,” Tyler murmurs, voice low, and they slip through another set of doors. Jamie itches to take his gun out of his holster, to have something in his hand in case he needs it, but he resists the urge. What kind of guest would bring a gun to an art auction?

It’s a rhetorical question; Jamie and Tyler would, for one. And, if their intel is good - and Tyler’s sharp eyes - they know that the Blackhawk cartel isn’t here unarmed, either.

This far into the buildings the corridors are a maze of well-polished marble and artfully potted plants, unmarked but ornate doors on either side as they walk. The first one Jamie tries is open but empty, only a few bare tables and cushioned chairs and heavy drapes framing the windows revealing that it’s a meeting room of some kind. Most are similar decorated but otherwise empty; it’s only twice that they come across a door that’s locked, and when Tyler looks up questioningly, Jamie shakes his head. It’s not worth the risk of noise and getting caught this far beyond the party, when even on Klinger’s blueprints it should just be another bare meeting room.

Jamie’s about to open his mouth and ask where Tyler’s leading him when someone rounds the corner ahead of them, heavy boots thunking ominously on the polished stone tiles. Jamie has to squint in the low lighting but it must be one of the Blackhawk’s goons; the guy is huge, all obnoxious muscle and overt tactical gear and yeah, a fucking MG slung over his shoulder.

He can practically smell the machismo and AXE from all the way down the hall.

Tyler reacts a half-second faster than he does, pivoting on one foot and tugging Jamie into a recessed alcove just out of the guard’s line of sight. They don’t make a sound - well, not until Jamie lands against the wall with a muffled thump, Tyler’s hand clapping over his mouth just in case. Jamie grunts at the impact, arms spasming against the wall as he tries to get his balance again - and not accidentally whack Tyler over the side of the head.

“Well, shit,” Klinger swears through the comms, followed by the clatter of frantic typing. Yeah. This isn’t good. A single guard usually wouldn’t derail an op, especially with two of them in the field like this. But one with a machine gun, at a public event for the arts, with the fucking _Blackhawk cartel_ \- subtlety is the name of the game.

And they’re about to massively blow it.

In the span of an instant, Jamie’s gone from high-alert to _code yellow,_ heart pounding out a furious rhythm in his chest. They _can’t_ get caught this early into the mission. There’s too many important things they have to take care of, too many lives on the line.

Tyler knows this; Jamie can tell from the sharp look in his eyes that this isn’t how he wanted it to go, either. He cocks his head to the side and listens to the guard’s footsteps, his warm breath ruffling over Jamie’s face. They’re jammed so close together that their knees keep bumping, and even if Tyler’s palm wasn’t clamped over his mouth, Jamie would have trouble breathing.

Forget being close enough to just _smell_ Tyler’s aftershave. This close, Jamie can outright drink him in, the bergamot and spice overlaid with the clean scent of skin and the tang of sweat, a mix that must be pure Tyler. He’s never noticed it before, but there are flecks of bronze in Tyler’s brown eyes, and a very faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. It’s alarming how pretty he is, and there’s nothing Jamie can do but bask in the sight of him, train his ears on the mook coming down the hallway, and wait.

It only takes a few seconds to realize that the guard’s coming closer, and there’s pretty much nothing they can do to distract him. They’re going to get caught. There’s no _way_ this guy is stupid enough not to see the two six-foot spies trying to hide in the shallow alcove, desperately trying not to knock over the potted plant on a pedestal smack-dab in the center of it.

Actually, it’s amazing they haven’t broken it already.

Tyler lowers his hand from Jamie’s lips. “I have an idea,” he mouths, not even daring to whisper. He’s close enough that Jamie can feel the rise and fall of his ribs underneath his suit as he breathes, can practically see the gears turning as Tyler considers their options.

“You boys probably don’t need reminding,” Klinger says in their ears - quietly, even though there’s little chance of _him_ being overheard by the guard, “but you’ve got about twenty seconds before that guy is level with your current position.”

 _Wonderful,_ Jamie doesn’t say. He’s halfway to reaching into the shoulder-holster hidden by his jacket when Tyler snags his wrist, stilling the movement. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and when Jamie raises an eyebrow, Tyler gives him a tentative smile.

“Do you trust me?” he leans in and whispers, his exhale hot against Jamie’s ear. He’s already moving, even before Jamie replies, flicking open the buttons at Jamie’s throat and tugging at his dress shirt to rumple it. Tyler knocks Jamie’s feet further apart with a tap of one leather shoe; he’d be embarrassed by how easily Tyler manhandles him if he had more than two brain cells to worry about it. But Jamie gets it, now, and does his best to muss his own hair and tug Tyler’s shirt out of his pants in the seconds they have left.

Tyler sags against him, presses his full weight into Jamie, and - oh, god. It doesn’t matter if he keeps telling himself that this is for a mission - his body isn’t going to let him forget this sensation for a long time. Because Tyler feels as good as he looks, lean and muscular, firm in the arms and softer in all the places that count. Jamie lets himself get into it, runs his fingers up under Tyler’s suit jacket to grab at his waist, bringing them even closer together.

When he meets Jamie’s gaze again, Tyler’s eyes are sparkling. At most, they have ten seconds before all this goes to shit. Jamie’s pulse thunders in his ears, a roar that nearly drowns out the oncoming footsteps.

That’s when Tyler leans in and kisses him.

Jamie’s fairly confident that he’s a decent kisser. Honeypot missions aren’t usually his deal, but he’s dated on and off in addition to needing to use _that_ kind of thing for the sake of espionage. It’s not his first choice for getting information, but it works for him in a pinch.

But Tyler -

Oh, fuck. Jamie’s never been kissed like _this_ before.

Tyler’s lips are plush and soft and so warm, the rasp of his beard a spine-tingling contrast on Jamie’s cheek. He doesn’t waste any time keeping it chaste, either, knowing they’re only moments away from being seen; he seeks out the seam of Jamie’s lips with his tongue and licks inside on Jamie’s gasp, humming deep in his throat with pleasure. His knee slides easily between Jamie’s, thighs slotted together like puzzle pieces.

There’s no way Jamie is going to survive this without making at least a little noise. But, well, making noise _is_ the point - as is _surviving_ , his brain helpfully supplies. Tyler’s tongue is slick and warm sliding against his own, and he moves with a liquid confidence and sensuality that has Jamie’s pulse throbbing just underneath his skin. Jamie groans into the kiss, exploring the muscular planes of Tyler’s lower back with his fingertips, slipping lower to anchor on his hips, grope the rounded swell of his ass.

Yeah, no one in their right mind would say no to this. No wonder Tyler’s always assigned on missions where he gets to use his body as much as his mind; this is something he’s _impressively_ good at.

And, at least for Jamie, it’s all the hotter knowing that Tyler’s strength, the firm muscle of his thighs and ass, the rough calluses that catch on Jamie’s skin where Tyler palms the back of his neck - all of it’s testament to his status as an elite agent who would take him down in seconds flat. Heat surges through his veins at the thought, his hips hitching involuntarily against Tyler’s.

Jamie hasn’t really kissed anyone that’s as tall as he is, let alone someone who can punch his weight class, so to speak. It probably shouldn’t be as blisteringly hot as Jamie finds it.

Tyler grins into the kiss when Jamie squeezes his ass again, and Jamie huffs - come _on_ , he can’t really blame Jamie for taking the opportunity. But then Tyler nibbles at his lower lip in retaliation, rocking his weight further forward into Jamie’s body. He’s distracted enough by the action of their mouths that it takes Jamie a moment to realize the hard line of heat against the crease of his thigh _isn’t_ Tyler’s custom Walther, and he whines low in his throat in realization. Because oh, god, that’s -

“Hey! What are you - uh,” a voice echoes in the hall not far off to his left, and Jamie snaps back into himself. There’s the squeak of rubber on tile as the guard pivots and takes a few steps backwards. Jamie almost snorts but he turns it into a moan instead, panting when they finally break apart for breath.

It feels like an hour has passed in the span of an instant, he thinks dizzly. And _Christ_ , if that’s what kissing Tyler feels like for a minute, what Jamie wouldn’t do to have him all night.

Their mouths part with an obscene, wet sound. Tyler has the gall to lick his lips, not even looking at the guard when his eyes flutter open. No: he keeps his gaze on Jamie, pupils blown wide and cheeks starting to flush prettily from their...amorous activities. It’s a great look on him.

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Tyler replies, voice roughened and low. Just the sound of it stirs something hot and dark deep in Jamie’s gut, and his fingers flex in the fabric of Tyler’s perfectly-tailored pants.

 _God,_ this had better work. If it doesn’t, he’s not sure it’s going to be worth the price of his sanity. Jamie’s not sure which is more agonizing: getting to touch Tyler like this, just this once, on the pretext of a society fuckboy quickie - or never having the intimate knowledge of Tyler’s lips against his at all.

Going by how interested his dick is in the proceedings, Jamie’s going to have to go with the former.

The guard looks appropriately slack-jawed at finding two well-dressed men somewhere between second and third base during his patrol, and clearly doesn’t know how to deal with them within the context of his orders. Jamie watches carefully as the wheels spin in the goon’s head; his hands hover near his waist, waffling between his radio on one hip and the gun strapped to the other.

Tyler interrupts his thought process smoothly, leaning in to mouth at the side of Jamie’s neck as he speaks. “C’mon, man, if you had a boyfriend this hot wouldn’t _you_ suck him off behind the nearest potted plant?”

His words are muffled, but at least it makes his point. Jamie’s also completely helpless to how it raises his blood pressure - both Tyler’s words and the contrast between the wet, silky heat of his lips and the delicious rasp of his beard on Jamie’s skin. It’s all too easy to focus on the sensations and let Tyler take the lead; he seems to have a plan, at least. And he has to admit, it’s pretty fun to watch the guard squirm when Tyler doesn’t stop mauling his neck, playing up the _horndog auction guest_ persona.

Jamie doesn’t think too hard about how all of this is doing a _lot_ for him.

“You- you shouldn’t be all the way back here!” the guard stammers, finally finding his voice. “Auction guests are to remain in the ballroom before the bidding starts - you’re going to have to take that, uh. Somewhere else.”

Tyler just raises a perfect eyebrow at the goon, and Jamie’s breath catches as he unmistakably gives a little suck. Fuck, the last thing he needs is to go back to HQ with a goddamn _hickey_ and no _Mission: Success_ stamp to go with it.

“Hey, c’mon,” Jamie gently pushes at Tyler’s shoulder, flushing at the annoyed, heated look he gets in response. “Sorry sir, we - I’ll - it’s the champagne, eh? We’ll head back to the party. Ty - c’mon, you can wait ‘til we get home.”

He’s not sure if it’s a relief or not when Tyler steps back, giving Jamie enough room to push off against the wall - it’s easy to play the blushing, easily-embarrassed boyfriend, but he can’t help but miss the heat and weight Tyler pressing into him now that they’re apart. Something about him is just magnetic, to Jamie, something he can’t quite put his finger on.

Tyler’s honey-brown eyes are so dark, nearly all pupil when their gazes lock again, a silent conversation passing between them. Take out the goon, risk him calling for backup - or worse, shooting off that gun? Play the parts and risk losing their only opportunity at catching out the cartel tonight? It’s Jamie’s call; Tyler dips his head in a slight nod, deferring to him. He’s lead agent on this one.

Jamie chews at his lip a little. It’s not ideal, but if they play it up for this goon, he’ll probably let them wander back in the direction of the party without seeing the need to personally escort them. There’s still a chance the op won’t be a bust.

He catches Tyler by the waist before he can drift too far away, doesn’t bother being subtle when he palms his ass. The expression on the guard’s face flickers through a series of emotions - he’d be _awful_ at poker - and out of the corner of his eye, Jamie sees Tyler smirk in amusement. If his heart wasn’t so thoroughly lodged in his throat he’d be nearly grinning, too; it’s hard to imagine this guard has ever been so uncomfortable in his _life_.

“Just-” the guard shoos them away with a vague flap of the hand, not meeting Jamie’s eyes. God, this is even easier than he’d thought. “Just get back to the auction and don’t go looking for any more corners, you hear? Have your quick fuck in the bathroom like everyone else, goddamnit.”

Tyler giggles, muffling the sound into Jamie’s shoulder as they turn away from the goon, aim themselves in the direction of the party. His voice still echoes prettily in the long, narrow hallway. “Oh, _please_ ,” he says, under his breath but loud enough for the guard to hear. It’s totally intentional. “Like _anything_ we do is like everyone else.”

Jamie’s stomach flips. He’s on the joke, of course - this goon has absolutely no idea that the black-tie makeout session he just interrupted was actually between two highly trained spies, not high-rolling art aficionados - but it still jerks something inside of him to hear Tyler say _we._ To imply that there’s a _them,_ together. A Tyler-and-Jamie. Jamie-and-Tyler.

He’s not wrong, though. They’re good at what they do. Strolling back toward the ballroom, the fine hairs on the nape of his neck prickling from the guard’s wary stare, Jamie can’t deny that they work well together. Hell - he’s not sure he could’ve gotten himself out of that spot, if he had been alone. There’s something to be said for an agent with inventiveness, who can find the right course of action in a pinch.

They turn the corner at the end of the corridor, finally putting themselves out of view of the guard. The sounds of the party are louder, now, as they get closer, and Jamie breathes a sigh of relief. Together, they’ve managed to make this work.

But, well - that’s not the kind of _together_ that keeps reminding Jamie of how good it felt to have the press of Tyler’s body against him.

Tyler’s warm where Jamie has him around the waist, hidden muscles in his back flexing against Jamie’s arm with every step. He feels firm and toned and strong here, too - the same wiry, flexible strength that had allowed him to hold Jamie against a wall, muscular thighs slotted together. And, not to mention, his _ass_ is -

Jamie has to stop this train of thought before walking in his suit pants becomes more difficult than it should be.

“You’ve never called me Ty before.”

Jamie nearly trips over his own feet down at the soft-spoken words, slowing his gait and glancing across to Tyler’s face. They’re really not that far apart - inches, it feels like, when Tyler meets his gaze. There’s the start of a blush on Tyler’s cheeks, high on his cheekbones and across his nose, and Jamie feels his face start to heat, too.

“Uh - yeah,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I guess I - in the heat of the moment it just, um, felt - _right_.”

Isn’t _that_ the understatement of the year.

Something about Jamie’s words makes a crease appear between Tyler’s brows, and he looks serious and considering as his eyes wander over Jamie’s face. They’ve slowed their pace considerably, and finally come to a stop when Tyler twists out of Jamie’s grip, turning so they’re face to face. The corridor seems eerily silent without their echoing footsteps.

Tyler’s quiet for a long moment that allows Jamie to just observe him - the tousle of his curls from where Jamie ran his fingers through it, the swollen pink of his lips from the frantic, stolen kisses. The blush makes the brightness of his eyes stand out even more, and Jamie’s pulse jumps when Tyler’s gaze flicks down to his lips before locking on Jamie’s eyes again.

“John,” he says softly, “do me a favor and cut the audio feed for two minutes.”

“Roger that, 91,” Klingberg says, sounding _far_ too knowingly amused, and there’s a slight _click_ in Jamie’s earpiece as they’re muted.

There’s a beat where they just look at each other, the tension between them nearly crackling with electricity. Jamie’s feet feel rooted to the spot with the force of the - the tentative _something_ between them, the undeniable spark that started to catch fire back in the alcove. It’s still burning like a coal deep in his gut, unforgettable and insistent.

God, he _wants._ Jamie wasn’t lying when he said it just felt _right_ to be side-by-side, Tyler’s name in his mouth and his lips against Jamie’s own, but he has no idea how to say it. They really haven’t worked together very much; how are you supposed to articulate all that in a few short minutes?

Tyler takes a half-step closer, and Jamie’s shaken from his swirling thoughts. Somehow, despite the way the mission has started off, a wide smile begins to bloom across Tyler’s face. It crinkles the corners of his eyes and tugs on the edges of his lips, amused and sincere and not at all the same as the smirks he’d used back at the bar. This is - it feels more genuine, more private, and between the twinkle in Tyler’s eyes and the fact he asked Klinger to turn off the comms, Jamie can’t help but think that this is Tyler shedding some of his usual spy persona.

“Hey, after this- ” Jamie watches as Tyler licks his lips, almost nervously, “let’s get dinner.”

“Dinner?” Jamie’s heart trips over itself in his chest. “Like, as- ”

“As a date, yeah,” Tyler says, shuffling even closer still.

Jamie’s throat clicks when he swallows. “What about the anti-fraternization rules?”

“Fuck the rules,” Tyler grins easily, his eyebrows quirking, “It’s in their best interest that agents that are regular partners form a solid bond, anyways. Besides - what goes on outside missions isn’t any of their business. M couldn’t stop me if he _tried.”_

Jamie believes it; he’s seen Tyler’s metrics, and if there’s anything that defines him, it’s determination and excellence in what he does. Tonight has been no exception in that regard. “I believe you. But, I mean - with me?”

Tyler’s eyes are so, so bronze-bright and warm, even when his smile falls a little. “Yes, _you._ Unless I’m reading this wrong - but I’ve never had chemistry this amazing on a mission, kissing or no.”

“Me neither,” Jamie admits. Somehow, it’s easy to open his mouth and continue, bare the thoughts that have been circling his mind. “I’ve never felt so in sync with a partner before. I thought it was maybe just - you. Being good at this.”

Tyler’s grin is nearly blinding. “It really wasn’t _just_ me. You’re incredible, Jamie - I knew if it came to it, you’d have that goon unarmed and pinned to the floor in half a second, if it looked like he was going to draw his gun. And _man,_ that thing you did with your _tongue_ \- I wasn’t kidding when I said that thing about getting on my knees- ”

“Aaaand that’s your allotted two minutes, gents,” Klinger’s voice cuts off Tyler’s sentence just as Jamie feels his face flushing with warmth. “Keep it PG-13 for now, will you? You’ve still got to survive the art auction part of the evening.”

“Bite me, string bean,” Tyler mutters, but he’s still grinning - and he winks in Jamie’s direction as he steps away, out of his space. Jamie snorts.

“For some reason, I don’t think our captain would appreciate that,” Klinger says dryly, and Tyler laughs at whatever expression has taken over Jamie’s face - dismayed embarrassment, probably. It doesn’t stop Tyler from catching Jamie’s hand in his, tugging him gently forward towards the ballroom again. Mission time.

“But - yeah,” Jamie says quietly, trying to pick up thread of their conversation. He didn’t get the chance to give Tyler an answer. “To dinner. Yes. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Tyler flashes him a grin, gives Jamie’s hand a little tug. It puts him just off-balance enough that Tyler can sneak a quick kiss to his cheek, his breath ghosting warmly over Jamie’s skin. He still smells intoxicatingly good, and Jamie’s mouth nearly waters at the thought of getting another taste. “Better finish this one up then, eh, 14?”

“Right behind you, 91,” Jamie says, squeezing Tyler’s hand briefly. It’s worth it to see the grin Tyler flashes at him. “I hope you’re hungry for trouble - the night’s not over yet.”

Tyler squeezes back, and his grin melts into a smirk. “Starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me and yell about hockey boys!
> 
> @[venvephe](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!  
> @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) on twitter!


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